


Prompt #35 (90-Prompt Challenge)

by GlitterBombLove



Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [35]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Study, Flash Fic, Prompt Fic, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29015610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterBombLove/pseuds/GlitterBombLove
Summary: Prompt #35January 26, 2021Genre: Contempory / Character StudyPrompt Idea: Introducing Dilly (Dylan)Source: OriginalNote: Continues in Prompt #36Warning: Contains some offensive language. References violence.
Series: Prompts - 90 Challenge [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052597





	Prompt #35 (90-Prompt Challenge)

The wildly rich and dirt poor are more similar than you'd ever think. Believe me.

I grew up so poor to be called a Hillbilly would have been like being knighted and called royalty. I come from hard, violent, criminal folk with mean in our blood. They work hard at not working hard and spend awful lot of time in prison for it. I shot my first human being at the age of nine when Uncle Elvin, fresh out of jail and high on meth, thought it was fun to target practice and nailed my pet rabbit in its pen. Instead of crying, I grabbed one of my dad's shot gun and shot my uncle in the left knee-cap. I was aiming for his crotch. I got beat down hard by my uncle and then I got beat my parents to teach me a lesson. I had to suffer through the family eating my bunny for supper that night. I learned my lesson alright. Uncle Elvin walks with a limp and my aim is much better these days.

I have a ton of family. They all live in a cluster together in the backwoods in broken down houses and trailers. It's called the Holler because you're so close you can holler back and forth to each other and be heard. Both the rich and poor tend to encourage having big families, I've observed. The wealthy can afford it. My family could care less about not having money to feed or educate their kids. Their whole thing was to wing it. Things would always work themselves out. Don't think too much past today, otherwise you'd be too petrified to live. I had so many siblings, cousins and extended family, that local law enforcement dread our get togethers.

Both types of family keep to themselves in suspicious tight-knit groups. Both are isolated for their own reasons. The wealthy are wary of outsiders with ulterior motives, and thus cocoon inside themselves. The poor are often pariahs in a community and when strangers come their way -- it's usually for the purpose of hassling or serving summons.

Because both kinds of families are so close, they have the tendency to war with each other. The rich throw-down just as much as the poor. They are just more subtle at it. Both the rich and poor are easy to slight - having big egos. The rich in-fight with power struggles -- playing games and smiling and gritting through their passive aggressive swipes at each other. They snubbed each other through missing dinner party invitations, and threats to cut each other out of their wills or threatening to whittle down trust funds. We poor quarrel amongst ourselves like it's a leisurely hobby. Why watch a soap-opera when you can live in one? We trash-talk and open a can of whoop-ass for any poor excuse. We smash bottles on each others heads and grab our shotguns and shoot out our windows and break each others paltry belongings. We love and hate hard.

At least that's how I see it. When my then-boyfriend Rory brought me around to meet his super-rich family (I mean they are REALLY rich. If I told you their name, you'd recognize it. Their company is everywhere), I figured them out pretty quickly. 

I think I handled it better than most because I saw their world like it was my world. It's like someone from Portugal is able to go to Mexico and get by relatively fine. I recognized Rory's family and I spoke the same language. The language of crazy. 

I'm not saying I fit in and was accepted - because I wasn't by a long shot. I heard snide remarks and was treated in a cold dismissive manner that would make some cry puddles or lose their tempers in a rage from hurt feelings. But you can only hurt those sweet folks believing in fairy tales. I come from hard, tough, violent folk. I have crazy aunts and uncles and mother and father and grandparents. No one believes in fairness tales either. 

I wasn't cowed or scared by my boyfriend's family. I just made myself right at home. I think they all expected me to tiptoe around or act like a grinning fool trying desperately to be liked, loved and accepted. I learned enough growing up that no one respected kiss-up. You paid your tithe carefully because if you were disrespectful to those with power, you could get your teeth knocked in your skull. You keep your mouth shut, don't draw attention to yourself but you finished a fight with your last breath.

So I kept my ohhh's and ahhh's to myself over the grand scale and billionaire lifestyle, and saw them for what they were: a bunch of crackpots with a pile of cash. I think I figured this out by the second day of my visit. It was at the family seat (rich people talk for an estate passed along through generations) in Georgia for the Grandfather's 91st birthday celebration. Family members arrived by helicopters and private jets throughout the world to pay homage to the patriarch. You would have thought he was a king, the way the relatives kneeled and crouched down before his chair. They held his hand and bid him birthday wishes to him. 

The old Grandfather and the family paid me very little attention - I could have been an ugly handbag someone dragged with them. I think they hoped I would go out of style and be replaced with another pretty face by next season. I didn't care what they thought and I was determined to enjoy my time with my boyfriend. 

I was up early in the morning and had a swim in their heated outdoor pool. This was better than a fancy hotel. I lazed on a chaise lounger, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice and watching the sun rise across the perfect rolling lawn. I had the outdoor terrace entirely to myself and I could hear the birds twitter early morning songs -- something I liked to do in the woods back home.

A gunshot cracked loudly behind me and a bullet whizzed over my shoulder. I grew up with shot guns blasting off, so I didn't completely lose it. I whirled around to make sure nobody was aiming at me. I saw the old Grandfather, bent over and holding a rifle in is shaky hands. He wore a sour expression on his face. The rifle's tip was smoking and he shot off another round that rang loudly in my ears. I dodged and followed the line of his aim and saw a a furry beige lump in the middle of the lawn.

"I told my neighbor to keep his puppy off my property. Shitting everywhere." His eyes locked into mine. The plush terry cloth robe flapped and his old man parts flashed at me.

He didn't bother to cover himself. He just glared down at me with his watery pale eyes, waiting for me to be shocked or emotional. He seemed to expect me to scream, cry, ignore him, or condone him. There was a spark of gloat in his eyes.

I felt something familiar click in my brain. Call it eccentric. He was just as nutty as my some of my kinfolk living in the holler. 

I rose up slowly and walked toward him unblinking. I returned his stare - giving him nothing in my gaze. The old man frowned at me and looked confused. I planted on hand in his chest and the other hand on the rifle and yanked it away from his withered hands. I snatched the rifle from his hands easy and pumped the cartridge and aimed it at his chest. I held him in the crosshairs for several minutes, and saw a look of horror on the old man's face. I let him see my finger slowly squeezing the trigger and he trembled. I nudged the tip into his chest. A puddle spread under his bare feet.

Suddenly, I released the trigger. He exhaled loudly. In a couple of smooth motions, I emptied the remaining cartridges on the ground. I kept my face blank. I knew any glee or amusement would make him spite me forever. I kept my face deadpan and tossed the rifle on the grass. Wordlessly, I walked back inside the manor and left the old patriarch behind. I crossed the marble foyer and passed staff and a family members, trying to figure out what was happening. 


End file.
